Red is rising misty veil from the cliffs,
red is sun unfolding –
looking through the gale,
radiant look withholding.
Land of spires, flowery valleys,
reddish rising beams.
Longwise piney alleys,
rushed are streams.
Pearled blossoms leaves,
life that gropes with sun meant,
to burst its sheaths,
flourish meadows’ scent.
Rocks with flowers girt,
sun-flooded scree,
birds in chirp
and their singing glee.
Tempest
Today it comes: her first hurricane.
She’s eager to get wet, ripping the ply-boards
I had nailed over the blurring panes;
But I, I’ve endured such storms before.
Felt as they fell, the bullet shells of rain,
And nearly drowned in a pool of ammo.
So of disasters I more than well know
Our new roof will be grated by the gales,
Shingles shook longwise the fringing coast,
And our red rafts, rocking, moored with tied tails,
Capsized by waves most bellicose.
Yet she titters like the lights of Christmas,
As I with loud-gulping heart far foresee
A marring of our sea-side vista;
Still she’ll be grinning, gazing up at me,
Dancing agog to the din of collapse.
While the wild winds woo palm trees to, perhaps,
Litter our paradise with leafy debris,
Then howl to cue the clouded troops
Who will level our home with love’s deluge.
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